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The Call

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  Senex et Puer There was once a little fish who played out his peaceful existence in a tributary that fed a great river. He was always careful not to get too close to the mouth of the tributary for he'd heard the elders speak of the great river's hunger, and that it would draw little fish out into its powerful current. And those who were drawn out were never seen again... --- A dream The river through which my soul swims, and in which I dream, draws me in through a call. It overrides my will and I watch with helpless acceptance as I'm pulled out of my peaceful tributary in which nothing ever happens; out into the violent rapids, away from comfort, swept away... I'm dashed upon the rocks, cast this way and that. I struggle hopelessly against the fates. I resist. But resistance is futile; dangerous even.  In the cacophony of these raging rapids I hear the call again. That familiar call I've heard so often, and which I lament because I don't know how to respond to...
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Of Wolf and Man

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And the Spirit of the Depths spoke and said: Man no longer thinks; "it" thinks in him. And I saw a great world stage. And upon the stage I saw collective man staring into a black mirror. And looking back upon his collective face was acrimony, distrust, hatred, malignance, despair, greed, malice, shame and hopelessness. And I watched as collective man brought the sword of justice down upon his neck. And his blood burst forth from him in an enormous wave that drowned the world. And as the blood receded, in it's wake I saw individual man. He had blood on his hands and a look of horror and disbelief on his face. And his head opened and out of it escaped a thought that "it" had placed there.  And the Spirit of the Depths spoke and said: Of wolf and man. Hunter of himself, devoured by himself.  Commentary While we as individuals can't control getting swept up in the tide of the collective, that doesn't mean we necessarily need to fall prey to, and become unthi...
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The Silver Tongued Dragon

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I dreamed a dream of the silver tongued dragon. Projecting magnificence, maleficence; radiating presence. To behold its form and beauty is to be mesmerised by its atmosphere, an atmosphere with gravity, drawing into its orbit troupes of "flying monkeys", clambering one over the other to perform their duty of abuse by proxy lest they become its next meal. The beating heart of the silver tongued dragon is a lump of coal as black as the night sky. To keep its black heart beating ember red requires an elaborate and insidious spell, a spell of deception and psychological manipulation cast by the light of a "gas-lit" fire. Beware of the silver tongued dragon. Do not let it draw your ire since this is the trap it sets for you. To speak out against it is to speak its language. No sooner do the words emanate from your lips than a madness and confusion surround you. You are the enemy and it is you who will be hung out to dry.  Much better for you that you be a "grey rock...
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